


The Long Way Home

by BitterTori



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Chisa has a hard time, Empathy, F/M, Nonverbal Communication, Original Species, botanical species, but at least one of these aliens is hot, once again i try to write smut and end up with far too much substance, pwwtmp (porn with way too much plot), so i guess here's this thing, space travel is scary when your grandparents still had roots, there aren't nearly enough Meson Martinet fics out here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTori/pseuds/BitterTori
Summary: It's the haul of the century: the last of its species, perfectly preserved in a cryo-cycle stasis pod, pilfered from a derelict ship drifting though Wild Space. The slavers who found it intend to bestow it upon the Hutts, a worthy gift for the right to trade in Hutt Space.
And who better to liberate them of their cargo than the crew of the Meson Martinet? After all, they have a medic on board with first-hand experience with CryoBan. 
But the being inside the pod is unlike anything they've ever seen before. Fortunately, the Crimson Corsair is nothing if not adaptive, and he's certain they can find a way to utilize having an empath on board--at least until they can find her home planet, and whatever might remain of her people.





	1. Free

**Author's Note:**

> So this was only supposed to be a quick, silly little thing because Sidon Ithano is my favorite and, goddammit, somebody needs to smooch that alien dude. But I got a little carried away with backstory and now I'm 25-pages deep into what was only supposed to be a bit of definitely-fluffy, possibly-smutty fun. We don't have a ton of information about Ithano and his crew, so much of this is conjecture and headcanon and general fuckery.
> 
> I don't intend to turn this into a full-fledged story, but it's already gotten way out of hand as is. So who knows? Anyway, this is not my first fanfiction but it's the first I've posted on Ao3 and the first in the Star Wars community. I'm still getting the hang of things here, and feedback in terms of story or format are both greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

In the time since CT-6116 had been revived and joined the crew of the  _ Meson Martinet _ , he had only known its captain, Sidon Ithano, as a bizarre, unpredictable, and rather laid-back—perhaps lethargic—man. He rarely spoke, and almost never in full sentences. He walked slowly, usually lending his arm to his peg-legged first mate, Quiggold. He never took off his mask, not even on board the ship, or at least not where the crew could see him do it. For a while Kix had wondered if he even needed to eat, but he’d since seen him on a few occasions in the mess, loading up a tray of food and then strolling off to his quarters. And the man always seemed to just... _ drape  _ himself over anything he sat on—and he tended to sit on  _ anything _ .

Somehow, instead of making him seem weak, the captain’s easy manner only made him more intimidating. CT-6116— _ Kix  _ to his long-dead brothers and, now, to his crewmates—supposed that staring into the impassive, plasteel mask of a man who clearly couldn’t care less whether you lived or died was enough to turn the most hardened of criminals into cowards.

All of that is to say that Kix was completely unprepared for the viciousness of their attack on the slaver’s ship.

The tip had come through a holovid message, a former friend and crewmate of Quiggold’s who had retired to tend a bar on some nameless Outer Rim planet, padding his wallet by discretely selling information to the pirates, smugglers, and bootleggers who could make best use of it. Any mention of “Hutts” or “big scores” within the walls of his establishment always made the drinks pour stronger, and before they knew it the group of slavers were practically waxing poetic about their find. Aboard a disabled Old Republic transport drifting in the Far Rim, a single being—believed to be the last of its species—still survived inside a CryoStasis pod.

It was the Cryo that made Partek think of Quiggold and Ithano—rumor of the captain’s miraculous survival from the _Obrexta III_  had spread far among certain circles, though no one seemed able to agree on what, exactly, the crew had recovered from Dooku’s lost cruiser. Only a blessed few knew the true nature of the  _ Martinet’s _ newest crewman—Partek and Quiggold must have been  _ very  _ good friends.

Whatever Kix had been before, whatever he had now become, he was a medic at heart. On top of that, he had first-hand experience with the effects and treatment of stasis poisoning. If there was anyone this side of the galaxy who could successfully revive whatever creature was trapped in that pod, it was him (whether he liked it or not).

The plan had been simple—track the ship with the flight codes Partek had given them, follow it out to the Mid Rim (close to, but not within Hutt Space), board and relieve them of their cargo. Simple, straightforward, easy to remember.

The ship didn’t yield any resistance to their approach, nor to the placement of their docking clamp. Quiggold worried it was a trap—perhaps he and Partek weren’t as good of friends as he’d thought?

But when they boarded, they found something far worse.

The entire crew had assembled in the mess to beat one of the slaves, nearly to death, so consumed with the violence that they hadn’t taken the ship off Auto or noticed that they’d been boarded by the most fearsome pirate of the Outer Rim.

It was then that Kix learned how he’d earned that title.

He’d never actually seen the man use his monstrous blaster rifle for anything but intimidation before—especially not within a starship, where so much could go wrong. A stray shot, loose on a ship, could do as much damage to  _ their  _ crew as to their enemies’. But the captain was remarkably precise; two shots sent two slavers to their graves. A third got the butt of the rifle to the face and went down, _hard_. For the rest, the Corsair tossed his rifle aside and fell upon them with his _bare hands_.

It was devastating; he moved with a speed Kix hadn’t thought him capable of, fought with a Jedi’s strength. And through it all, he was absolutely, wretchedly silent.

Two slavers lay dead, four badly wounded, and three more merely dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender at the sight of Sidon Ithano standing before them, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists at his side, red tunic splattered with blue blood.

Kix hurried forward, medkit at the ready, doing all he could to bandage the wounds and broken bones of the Ithorian slave. The man was in bad shape, only barely conscious enough to tell them where the others were kept through wheezing breaths. He’d likely have to lose an eye, but Kix was hopeful he could still save his leg. A shot of anaesthetic, and the man was out like a light. Squeaky carried him back to the  _ Martinet’s  _ medbay as Kix rose to his feet and looked around.

All the slavers were gone—Reveth told him later that the captain had coerced or hauled them all into an escape pod and ejected them out into Dark Space. Maybe they’d get picked up by another ship, maybe they’d get pulled into a planet’s gravity field, maybe they’d starve to death in the void of space; Ithano didn’t seem to care either way.

They all hurried to release the other slaves. One woman, a visibly-pregnant Ithorian, had fallen to her knees crying when they told them her husband was alive. Kix wasn’t sure where these people would stay until they hit a port, but Captain Ithano—through his first mate Quiggold, of course—welcomed them aboard the  _ Meson Martinet  _ and promised to transport them out of Hutt Space. They knew a guy (who knew a guy) who could take care of their collars; but did anyone know anything about a CryoStasis Pod?

The pregnant woman did—her husband had found it while doing maintenance in the air filtration system, but he’d gotten caught sneaking down there for another look.

So Quiggold and Squeaky escorted the freedmen back to the  _ Martinet _ while the rest of the crew went crawling through the air ducts in search of a secret vault.

Turned out, it was just below deck, at a perfectly accessible part of the ship that they would’ve found easily if they’d just walked around a bit. Reveth paged the others, who came with a cart for the crates of modified—and thus illegal, and thus _valuable_ —weapons the slavers had also been transporting. “We’ll keep what we need and sell the rest,” Quiggold said at a nod from the captain. “But for now, we’ll take them all to storage and grab some thermals, get this ship rigged to blow!”

They left, and Kix, Reveth, and the captain stood around the pod in silence. The glass was too thickly frosted to see any more than a vague outline of a figure inside. The readout on the terminal was encrypted, so no useful information there, either, aside from the date of interment: a good thirty years before Kix himself was frozen.

“ _ Pfaask! _ ” Reveth cursed. “ _ Eighty years? _ ”

“We better get it outta there,” Kix agreed, messing with the controls. His expertise certainly wasn’t in  _ opening  _ the blasted things, but at least the interface was more familiar than the new-fangled nonsense people used these days, and he was able to fumble his way through.

The pod opened with a hiss, releasing a rush of CryoBan that dissipated into the air, harmless now after so many years. The glass cleared and then retracted, revealing the creature inside.

It had two sets of arms: the first, like a normal humanoid’s, with shoulder joints Kix recognized, hands balled into fists at its sides. The second set of shoulders (if they could even be called that) sat directly beneath the first, with quite a diminished range of motion—a saddle joint, perhaps?—and the limbs were thinner, maybe even shorter, though it was difficult to tell with the way they were wrapped around its waist, the hands clasped over what he assumed to be its stomach.

There only seemed to be two legs, though those were obscured by an ankle-length skirt and thus it was difficult to say; there were only two visible feet, at least, that ended in three long, claw-like toes.

The skirt, the clothing, were intriguing. Was this a woman? Kix hadn’t really believed the rumor that this was the last of its species, but he certainly hadn’t seen another like it, which made it impossible to know for sure. Did whatever-this-was even  _ have  _ a distinguishable gender? There was no way to know. The face  _ seemed  _ to be feminine, he supposed, but it was also...well,  _ flat _ , with wide-set eyes that remained closed, two slits in a v-shape for what he presumed to be a nose, and only a slight rise around a parted mouth that hinted at something like lips. The skin of its— _ her? _ —neck and face were brown, though speckled throughout with splotches of green, at varying sizes and intervals, the largest of which covered most of the left side of its face.

And atop its head, a mess of thin, reddish vines spread out and around, nearly stretching to the edges of the cryo-pod, all of which seemed to be dotted with small, pinkish  _ buds _ , firmly closed.

A botanical. A kriffing  _ botanical! _ Would any of his medical knowledge even be kriffing useful? Who kriffing knew! He could  _ water  _ the blasted thing, maybe stick it under a solar lamp, but beyond that? He had  _ no kriffing clue! _ And, if it really was a  _ female?  _ What the kriff was he supposed to do  _ then?  _ He wasn’t a  _ real  _ medic, not anymore; and even when he  _ had  _ been, all of his brothers had been just that— _ brothers! _

What if...after all she must have been through, and after all this time...  What if there was nothing he could do to save her? The last known survivor of her entire species,  _ gone  _ because CT-6116 was too stupid to know how to treat her?

“ _ Pfassk!  _ Kix, is she alive?”

Reveth’s voice shook him from his thoughts; he lurched forward toward the pod, trying to interpret the readout on the display. “I–I... I think so.”

She was still defrosting; how long had she been in there? There was ice clinging to her knuckles, her face, her vines. Botanicals, they... They needed heat. “We gotta get her outta there, warm her up!”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the Captain scooped her up, carried her like she didn’t weigh anything, and deposited her on the floor next to the pod’s generator.

Ithano straightened up, and turned to face Kix, red mask as impassive as ever. Still, he got the sense the captain was just waiting for further instruction, as though the idea that Kix couldn’t handle this had never even crossed his mind. The Delphidian was a natural leader: he had a way of making his crew feel like they could do the impossible, and time and again they did just that, for no other reason than to make their captain proud.

He was the sort of leader clones  _ dreamed  _ they’d be.

Kix wracked his brain for all he knew of botanicals; it wasn’t much, but it would have to do. The ice on her skin was melting—and not just that, it seemed to be melting  _ into  _ her skin. It wasn’t a lot, but it was  _ some  _ water, at least; no solar light, but she had the heat of the generator at her back... “Botanicals, they don’t breathe oxygen, they breathe...carbon dioxide,” he muttered, mostly just talking to himself, running through the feeble list in his head.

But Ithano nodded, fiddled with something on his mask, and then crouched down and... _ breathed at her _ , his mask close against the flat plane of her face, the CO2 rushing out of his breather with a hiss.

The girl—if it even was a girl—coughed, shivered, and groaned. Ithano scooted back a step, watching as she reached up with one of her green hands and rubbed at her face, groaning again. Slowly, she pried her eyes open, blinking—and then she saw Ithano, and froze.

The captain put his hands up, made a quiet, gentle sort of  _honk_ , placating.

Quick as a flash, she lashed out, shoved him back, lurched to her feet. In her hand: the captain’s vibroblade.

Reveth took a step forward, blaster rifle at the ready. “Now let’s all just calm down, here.”

The botanical glanced at her, then Kix—her eyes were entirely green, even the sclera, with darker green dots to give a hint of round pupils—and then back at the captain, who was rising slowly to his feet. She snarled, showing off a mouthful of sharp teeth, and took an aggressive stance.

“We’re here to help you!” Kix called, brandishing his medkit. She glanced at him and around the room again, as if confused. “Do you... Do you speak Basic?”

There was no response but another flash of teeth. “Twi’leki?” Reveth offered, but still nothing.

“ _ Mando’a? _ ” Kix offered, a little hopelessly, certain that even if she did happen to speak the ancient language of the Mandalorians, his limited proficiency would be of little use to any of them.

The creature merely frowned, straightening her spine and balling three hands into fists at her sides, all but the one that brandished the vibroblade threateningly.

Suddenly, Kix was gripped with fear; she was huge, her shoulders broad, her arms corded with thick muscle. They’d already seen she was fast, fast enough to snatch a knife off of Sidon Ithano. And she wasn’t humanoid; even if Reveth could land a shot, there was no guarantee it would actually stop her. Those teeth of hers were no joke, either. This was a terrible idea, a terrible plan to begin with. She would kill them; they should run, while they still had the chance!

He glanced over, saw Reveth start to lower her gun, clearly coming to the same conclusion. They needed to go, and now! “ _ Captain _ –!”

Sidon Ithano raised one hand, then closed it— _ silence _ . A soft crackle from his mask signaled he was about to speak. “ _ She’s an empath _ ,” he said with his strange, robotic voice.

Kix shook his head, still wanting to run. “A... A  _ what? _ ”

“ _ You’re only afraid because she wants you to be _ ,” he said firmly. Was it some kind of Jedi mind-trick? “ _ But you’re not afraid. You want to help. Don’t you? _ ”

“I... Yes.” Kix shook his head; he felt foggy, like his skull was stuffed with cotton. But the captain was right. “I’m a medic. I just want to help.”

The girl frowned, took a step back.

“ _ Reveth? _ ” the captain growled.

The Twi’lek shuddered and rubbed her forehead, lowered her blaster. “Why would I be afraid..?” she asked slowly, as if rousing from sleep. “We came to free you. We came to help.”

Kix blinked, and looked again. The botanical  _ did  _ look strong, but...she was actually rather small—a good deal shorter than Ithano, and even a few centimeters shorter than himself. He still felt afraid, but it didn’t make any sense to be, and the feeling was...receding.

The captain took a step forward, held a hand out to the strange sentient. “ _ We came to help _ .”

The little plant hesitated, then moved as if to return his vibroblade; but she faltered, and staggered. The vibroblade fell from her grip and clattered to the ground as she wrapped two arms around herself, thrust another two out to steady herself, her eyes wrenching closed.

“It’s the stasis poisoning,” Kix said with a shudder, remembering how that had felt. “We need to get her to sick bay.”

Ithano nodded, and caught her as she slumped toward the floor. Kix collected his medkit and the lost vibroblade as the door behind them slid open.

“Alright, hey, we done here? ‘Cause this thing’s all rigged to blow, so we’d better be.” Quiggold stared hard at the now-unconscious creature in the captain’s arms. “ _ Blast _ , what  _ is  _ that thing?!”

Ithano turned expectantly to Kix. “I... We’re not sure. Some kind of botanical sentient, I guess. Cryo probably did a number on her, and she’s been under longer than  _ I  _ was, so she’s gonna need some serious treatment.”

“Doesn’t seem to speak, either,” Reveth added. “Seems  _ capable _ , but she didn’t recognize any language we threw at her. Boss says she’s  _ empathic _ , too. She can... _ make  _ you feel things.”

“Oh,  _ great _ ,” Quiggold snorted, squinting at the plant. “Kriffing empaths. Could be a huge asset if she’s on our side, though. Think maybe she’s some kinda Jedi, boss?”

Ithano shrugged, careful not to jostle the girl much, then tilted his mask toward the door and started hurrying away.

“Huh? Oh, right. Explosives. C’mon, kids,” Quiggold called jovially. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

The  _ Meson Martinet _ , like most pirate starships currently active, was a repurposed freighter that had seen better days. Unlike others, though, it had also seen much worse; its captain fully understood the importance of a solid ship and up-to-date equipment, and while he’d made plenty of connections in his many years of piracy and thus had scores of mechanics willing to give him a discount, he did not skimp on repairs.

Even so, it’d been a long time since the crew had had a certified medic among them. The medbay, though not as expansive as some Kix had worked on, had certainly been cutting-edge when it had been constructed, but hadn’t really seen many upgrades in decades.

Honestly, Kix preferred it that way. The now-outdated tools were far closer to what he was used to, and he’d turned down all of Quiggold’s offers to track down new parts and upgrades. What good would it do to have the latest equipment if he didn’t know how to use it? And what guarantee did he have that these new-fangled tools were any better than the old ones? Stars, he’d kill for just a couple vials of good, reliable kolto over this _bacta_ nonsense.

Even with his familiarity with the bay’s setup, there was little he could do for the little plant girl. Sunlight, carbon dioxide, and water... They didn’t have a solar lamp on board, and the bay was situated well within the bowels of the ship, as extra security—if there was one thing you didn’t want damaged in a firefight, it was your medbay. So they wheeled her to an external storage room (empty now that the former slaves had all been relocated) and raised the blinds so she could pick up on any stray radiation from passing stars. And Reveth had adjusted the room’s filtration system, so there were higher-than-normal levels of CO2 circulating, though not enough to be a danger to the mammalians aboard. If the botanic ever recovered, and decided to stick around, they’d conserve a ton of energy on air filtration alone—more than enough to justify the strain she’d put on their water supply.

Already, she was going through it a lot faster than he’d expected, her body desperate to flush out the lingering toxins of the CryoBan. He’d set up an automated notification system to let him know when her tank was running low, and it felt like he went to refill it a hundred times a standard day (but likely wasn’t more than ten. Still, though— _ ten times a day! _ ).

It was not unusual for Reveth to be there, too; the prickly Twi’lek seemed to have taken a special interest in the girl, and stopped by a few times a day to untangle her vines or change her clothes, under the guise of checking the air filters.  By now, she’d given up all pretenses, and Kix found her reclining back in a chair she must have dragged there herself, propping her feet up on the bed and flipping through a holojournal.

“Anything interesting?” he asked as greeting, unscrewing the lid of the water tank.

She grunted in reply, tossing the viewer onto the bed. “Lotta crap, honestly.” She stretched and flexed her metal arm—the hinge tended to stick if she sat still for too long. “Been trying to research botanic empaths, figure out what she is or where she came from, but there’s just... _ nothing _ .”

“Yeah?” He screwed the lid back on top of the now-full tank, then fished his medisensor out of his pack. “I know Quig’s been asking around their old contacts, too, but I’m sure he would’ve let us know if he heard anything.” Kix sighed, and shrugged. “But who knows? Maybe it wasn't her whole race, maybe she’s the only one who could do it. A Jedi, or something like it. Or maybe she’ll wake up and tell us all about it, mystery solved.”

“Right... Oh, yeah, meant to tell you: she was awake about an hour ago. I brought my lunch with me, and she ate some of my bread. Didn’t say anything, but she...did the  _ thing  _ again. Made me feel stuff; scared, mostly, but also...grateful? I didn’t really understand it at first, but...I think she was trying to say thank you.”

“... _ Blast _ . I mean, I’ve met Jedi before, but...that is some weird shit.” Reveth snorted a laugh. “But, hey, she  _ ate _ something?  _ Weird _ . With her teeth, I didn’t think she would.”

“Yeah, well, I seem to remember someone else being pretty hungry after being frozen for decades, huh?”

He cringed, thinking of the way he’d eaten everything in sight for two days straight. “Fair enough, but  _ I’m  _ human. I got molars, and incisors, and all kinds’a great digestive organs for dealing with bread.  _ She’s  _ got a mouth full of  _ knives _ , and, what?  _ Chlorophyll? _ I’m just surprised, is all. I’ll bring some snacks next time, in case she wakes up and no one’s around.”

“Ha. Good idea,” she chuckled, scooping the holo back up and appearing to dive back into her reading.

Kix double-checked the girl’s vitals and straightened her blankets—the storage room wasn't on the normal heat cycle, so they'd just swaddled her with about everything they could spare. He should just head out, get back to the work he’d put on hold, but... “Hey, Reveth?”

“Hmm?” She didn’t bother looking up from the viewer.

“Did the captain seem more... I dunno,  _ ruthless _ than usual? When we hit the slavers?”

That  _ did  _ get her attention; she lowered the holoviewer and fixed him with a look. “The Corsair doesn’t have many rules, but I know of at least two: we don’t take jobs from Hutts, and we shoot slavers on sight. Nice, easy to remember, fun to follow. I dunno why he hates them so much, but I sure ain’t gonna be the one to ask.”

“Right, right. I was just wondering, y’know... They say Delphidians—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” she said sharply. “Seriously. You do  _ not  _ wanna talk shit about Delphidians on this ship.”

“What, does he have it  _ bugged? _ "

“ _ What?  _ No, nothing like  _ that _ . Just... Listen, I know you don’t have much experience with other species. As  _ allies _ ,” she added at the look her threw her, “not as  _ enemies _ . Those rumors about his people are likely just prejudiced nonsense. But even if they're not, it isn’t good form to talk about a person’s species like that, unless you’re  _ trying  _ to offend them. And when that person is the Scourge of Adratharpe 7, I would  _ strongly  _ advise against it.” She shook her head. “The boss doesn’t talk about home, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t proud of what he is.”

Kix thought of his old uniform, the helmet he’d pawned when he realized the way people cowered back when they saw him, and of the ache that roared up in his chest whenever he reached up expecting to feel plasteel and found, instead, his own face—his _brothers_ ’ face. “Alright, yeah,” he started, then had to stop and clear his throat. “I can understand that.”

She shook her head, too, fiddling with the holoviewer now resting in her lap. “Look, you just... I know we all spend a lot of time together, but prying into the captain’s life ain't a good idea. I've seen him do some unbelievable—and I mean  _ literally unbelievable _ —shit, but he isn't exactly forthcoming about how he does it. But, hey, he’s a good man, and I like working for him, and I ain't gonna jeopardize that by asking too many questions. You shouldn't, either. And anyway, you don't need a tragic backstory to hate slavery. Everyone deserves to be free, no matter the species.”

The look on her face cut him to the quick; he’d seen plenty of Twi’leks enslaved, both before the Cryo and after. He opened his mouth, wanting to apologize for his insensitivity; but she was shaking her head and gesturing to the strange figure in the bed.

“That’s why Quiggold’s so nervous about this. If she wakes up and decides she wants to hijack this ship, she could just _make_ us take her wherever she wants to go. She could make us _want_ to go there, make us want it so bad we neglect food or sleep or each other, whatever it took. She could make us do just about anything.”

Something clicked in his head. “Wait. That’s why you've been here all the time! In case she wakes up feeling murderous?”

Reveth shrugged like it was no big deal. “Quig thought she’d be more sympathetic with another woman. And it’d be better if she turns  _ me  _ crazy first than, say,  _ Squeaky _ . Seriously, I love the big guy, but I had to wrestle him out of a bar once. It was  _ not  _ a fun time.”

“You don't really think she could get all of us, do you? I mean, not when we’re  _ prepared _ for it, right?”

She fixed him with a look. “When she got us last time, she’d just woken up after almost a century in that pod and was suffering from stasis poisoning; still, she had you and me ready to run. Dunno about you, but I’m not too keen to try our luck when she’s up to full strength.”

“The captain seemed fine,” Kix offered, even knowing it was a poor defense.

She snorted in response. “The captain  _ always _ ‘seems fine’—that’s his whole  _ thing _ . But he might’ve been just as effected and we couldn’t tell. Or he  _ is  _ immune for whatever reason, and would have to single-handedly take back the ship. Granted, if anyone could do it, it’s  _ him _ ; but I’d rather avoid that entirely, if possible.”

Kix gripped the edge of the bed for stability and heaved a great sigh. He thought of his brother, Tup: of the desperation in his eyes when he realized what he'd done, what the chip in his head had made him do. He’d sworn that none of his brothers would have to suffer like that ever again; but he’d been too careless, too trusting, and his failure had ruined, well... _ everything _ .

The plasteel of the bed’s railing groaned under his hands. Reveth’s red, flesh hand slid over his, an attempt at comfort. He wouldn’t let something like that happen ever again, not to the people on this ship—not to  _ Reveth _ , or Squeaky or Quiggold or the captain. “ _ No _ ,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “I  _ won’t  _ let it happen again.”

“ _ Kix _ —” she started, but was cut off by the hiss of the door sliding open, and they both turned to look.

Captain Ithano’s tall figure filled the doorway, silhouetted by the soft glow of the running lights in the hall. He cut as imposing a figure as always, but seemed to hesitate at the sight of them, his posture rigid and perhaps a touch embarrassed.

He straightened his shoulders and strode into the room, nodding to them in greeting. For a long, uncomfortable moment they all sat in silence as he stood beside the bed, peering down at the sleeping figure. Then he tilted his mask meaningfully in Kix’s direction.

The clone had been a member of their crew for nearly a standard year now, but he was still growing accustomed to the captain’s gestures, and it took a moment to figure out what he was asking. “Oh! Uh, she... She seems to be doing well. Absorbing a  _ lot  _ of water, which means her body’s successfully flushing the CryoBan. And Reveth said she woke up and ate something earlier—some  _ bread _ , which is  _ fascinating!  _ With her dental structure—I mean, I assumed the teeth were just for  _ show! _ I didn’t think—” He caught himself before he fell into full-on orthodontic ramble, and cleared his throat. “Anyway. I think there’s a good chance she’ll be up soon. Another day, maybe two.”

The captain nodded. Then he reached down and placed a hand on the top of her head with the utmost care. There was a crackle of static, and then he said, “ _ Thank you for sitting with her _ ,” presumably to Reveth. “ _ She is very afraid. _ ”

Somehow Reveth knew what was coming and shot him a look, but Kix plowed forward anyway. “How the kriff could you  _ know  _ that? How–how did you know what she... _ does? _ ”

Reveth looked like she wanted to slap him, but Ithano just shook his head, emitting a low rumbling sound—was he  _ laughing? _ “Humans,” he said—and yeah, definitely laughing. “ _ Empaths can influence others, but really they just project their own emotions. If you knew how to listen, you'd know that she’s been screaming since we freed her. I just came to see why she’d stopped. _ ”

It was about the most Kix had ever heard him say at one time, and after saying it, the captain patted the botanical’s head once, nodded to him and Reveth, turned, and left the room.

They sat in silence for a moment after he’d gone, until Kix couldn't stand it any longer. “Listen, okay, interspecies-sensitivity aside, the captain is one weird son of a bantha.”

Reveth snorted a laugh. It was only then that he realised she was still holding his hand. Suddenly the room felt dangerously small and dark and warm. “I–I, uh... I’m gonna go...find some food. For her. I–in case she wakes up. Uhh—”

“Oh, cool! I think there’s still some fried moof in the mess; I was gonna get it myself, but, uh...” She looked down at the brown-and-green-skinned woman, her expression a curious blend of fondness and trepidation. “I think I’m gonna stay a little longer. Mind to bring it to me?”

His only hope was that it was too dark for her to see how red his face had gotten. “Yeah, n-no problem. Be right back,” he muttered, turning and fleeing at least as fast as the captain had.


	2. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plant girl wakes up, finds a distinct lack of soil around, and fails miserably at understanding punctuation.
> 
> Well, at least these aliens seem...friendly?

Awake was painful, but it was at least better than the drifting.

She sat up slowly, needing all four arms to heave herself upright, the surface of her skin feeling as though it were prickling with electricity. She took a deep breath, or tried to; the air was oxygen-heavy, thinner than she’d expected, and the gasp that should have filled her chest only barely stifled the burning need to breathe. She breathed again, for longer this time, and glanced to her left. There was a wall of glass so close that she could touch it; and just beyond that, a void littered with distant, glittering stars.

Fucking _starships_.

Until now, the only time she’d been on one was the assault. She’d been wildly, dangerously unprepared for just how weak the lack of air and light and earth would make her. Jak’tiiva had not made it; honestly, she hadn’t really thought she’d survived, either.

It was like she’d been trapped in sleep, but _so much worse_ , and now she was awake without any idea how much time had passed save for the knowledge that it’d been far too long.

For a moment she closed her eyes and sat in silence and hoped against hope, spread her senses out throughout the starship (it was smaller than she’d expected, smaller than the Sith ship, her only other basis for comparison). She reached out throughout its halls and rooms and hideaways, as far as she could, hoping for some response, for _anything_...

All she found was a soft bubble of distant amusement, a strange pool of calm, and her own aching despair.

She bit back a cry and pulled herself back, spooling her senses as tightly as she could within herself; but the grief wormed itself free and anchored in her chest and refused to let go until she’d cried it back down. She sat alone in this strange bed on this strange vessel, drifting aimlessly through the heavens, and she wept. She wept for Jak’tiiva and for Shaalini, for Songhay and Epka. She wept for _Home_.

And when she’d finally wrung out her tears and her grief, she dried her eyes and wove the feeling away with the others. She needed to find out where she was, and when, and _why_.

Beside this bed was some sort of...machine, perhaps? And vines stretched out of it in different directions, two of them tipped with needles and inserted in her right arms. She tugged them out—it didn’t feel like more than water, but she couldn’t be sure.

Someone had left a plate on top of the machine, loaded with strange things—food, she supposed, as there was more of that hard, dry bread she’d had before. It wasn’t dirt, but she needed _something_ , and father had had enough Speaker in his bloodlines that she could digest it.

She stuffed the bread into her mouth and chewed it thoroughly. It wasn’t nearly enough; she picked through the other things on the plate, but there was nothing else she recognized, nothing else that would give her what she needed. She would have to make do.

What she wouldn’t give for a handful of good, rich soil...

But there was nothing she could do about it from this bed. She dug herself out of the pile of blankets and rose to her feet.

The metal floor was colder than she’d expected, and sent a chill straight through her. She glanced down, saw her clothes had been changed, and the grief started to wriggle its way free. She tamped it back down—she would _not_ cry over the loss of her sister’s skirt—and snatched one of the thicker blankets from the bed. It did nothing for her chilly feet, but its warmth and weight were a comfort around her shoulders. She pulled it tight, and headed toward what seemed like a door.

She’d seen things like this on the other ship, so the feeling of accomplishment that bubbled up when she placed a hand against the wall and the door opened was silly, but undeniable.

The hall outside was barely warmer than her room, and the air was even thinner. There was no one around; but the amusement she’d felt before had come from the right, so she headed that way. The ship hadn't _seemed_ that big, but now that she was actually walking, the hall seemed to stretch on forever. Her feet were cold, her body was sore, and she had to move slowly to conserve her breath.

Finally, she felt a few emotions, and she heard a few voices. She pressed her face to the door, feeling: there was the amusement, and some embarrassment, a wave of camaraderie, a dollop of lust...and, apart from the others, that strange calm. It wasn't quite an absence of emotion—she _knew_ what that felt like, the whole _ship_ was an absence—but it was a nearly-tangible space, distinguishable from the rest of the ship, merely quiet and still.

She took a breath and opened the door.

It appeared to be some sort of dining hall, with a long, rectangular table set deep into the floor. Bench-like seats had been built into the walls surrounding the table; they looked like they'd once been thickly, plushly padded, but had grown worn and threadbare. Still, the strange blend of beings seated on them didn't seem to mind; the red- and brown-skinned people from earlier were laughing together with a roundish root-like being and another with a long snout and tusks. The calm was coming from the being at the head of the table.

When she’d first opened her eyes, the flatness of his face made her think he was one of her people, one of the red-faced Bloomers, or perhaps a Speaker who’d dyed his face. But now she could clearly see that it was only a mask, not organic. He _wasn’t_ one of hers—he was an alien like the rest. Still, the sense of familiarity was difficult to shake, as he sat with his long limbs draped languidly over the seats around him, one booted foot resting on the edge of the table—taking up space, very much like a Bloomer would.

She tried to keep her emotions bound, but the disappointment dropped through her, heavy as a stone.

In one sudden smooth motion—almost as if he’d _felt_ her—the not-a-Bloomer pulled in his limbs and rose up and climbed out of the seat to stand level with her, staring from behind his mask. The laughter stopped as the others turned to look, all emotions swept away by their animosity and uncertainty at the sight of her, but she wasn’t concerned about them. The man in the mask was clearly their leader; whatever they had planned for her, it would be at his word.

He was taller than she’d realized before, with broad shoulders and long limbs, clearly a natural warrior; but he stood relaxed, slouched a bit, even raised his hands to appear unthreatening. Compassion and pity murmured up within his pool of calm, lazily drifting toward her—so he wasn’t like her, but he _did_ know how to Feel, somehow...he just wasn’t much good at it. There was a soft crackle, and then he said, “ _Hello. We won’t hurt you._ ”

It was a strange voice, filled with static—a _droid’s_ voice, almost. She hadn’t known many droids before; Speakers all had them, and a few Bloomers had started keeping them, back before the invasion. Those had all been given over to Home Defense when the time came; to her knowledge, she’d been the first Weed to have a droid follow her commands, even if they had just been battle orders.

This man could clearly Feel, so he couldn’t be a droid. But maybe... _parts_ of him were? Was that even a thing aliens could _do?_

Whatever he was, she was being rude. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and dipped into a bow; still, she kept her eyes on him. Feelings were difficult to forge, but if he was lying she would not be caught off her guard.

“Wait— _hey!_ ” the brown man said, scrambling out of his seat with far less grace than his leader had. “Hang on—do you _speak Basic?_ ”

She frowned, opened her mouth to show her teeth, even pointed at them this time. Obviously, she was not a Speaker.

“Wha—?” For some reason, this seemed to make him even more confused. “Wait, but you can _understand it?_ ”

She didn’t mean to be quite so condescending, but she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands— _obviously!_ —more by instinct than anything else.

A hint of the earlier amusement bubbled up from the table, and the red woman openly laughed.

“Okay, wait, so... So you can’t _speak_ . But you can _understand_ speech? Plus you can do the whole...” the brown person said, waving his two hands and looking at his companions frantically, “That whole _feelings_ thing, and we’re all just _okay_ with this?”

“Hey, Kix, take it easy,” the red woman murmured, putting a hand on his arm.

She chittered at them, freeing two of her hands from the blanket to get their attention, then miming as if scribing. She’d never had tremendous skill in hand-etching, but she did know _how_ , and it would serve here well enough. These aliens may not have any dirt, but surely they at least had writing clay, right?

The big one with the tusks said something in a language she didn’t recognize and came to his feet, brandishing a small, dark rectangle. He ascended out of the ring of seats and crossed to her, holding the thing out to her. She took it from him, but also took his hand. It gave her a small measure of the man, saw that he put on a front of ferocity but was really soft and gentle and kind. And so she also passed him her confusion, gesturing at the strange rectangle.

He faltered back at the touch, but then nodded and said more words she didn’t know. At her blank look, he shook his head and grabbed her hand back, then pressed her fingers to the object’s face. It lit up with unnatural, blue light—she squeaked in surprise. But then she looked closer, saw that the lights were arranged in the shape of the letters she had learned, so very many years before.

She bit the edge of her mouth, holding her breath as she touched one of the letters, the “H”. There was a blank space above that was no longer blank—an “H” had moved into it. She tried another letter, an “E”, and one moved up beside the “H”. She added another letter, then another and another.

The tusked man snorted cheerily, nodding, and then touched a little square that had no letters, merely an arrow. When he did, an electronic voice read out her word aloud, “HELLO>”

She nearly dropped the thing in fright. But when she recovered, well... Heavens, yes, this was _so much faster_ than writing clay.

She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and dropped to a sit on the ground, propping the rectangle on her lap. Her vines fell in her face; with a grunt, she reached up, wrapped one vine around the rest to keep them back, and then began typing frantically. “MUCH BETTER WHAT IS THIS THING>”

“I-it’s just an old datapad,” said the alien that looked remarkably like a root. “Listen, we’ll answer your questions if you answer ours. That sound fair?”

She nodded to him vigorously, then tapped again. “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW>”

“How do you do it?” the brown man demanded. “The feeling thing. Are you a Jedi?”

She frowned, and tapped. “A WHAT>”

Their surprise was sudden and strong, nearly enough to knock her breathless. “W-what? How do you not know—? Where the _kriff_ are you _from?_ ”

“ _Kix!_ ”

“HOME>” she typed, and it drew their attention back from the confusing man. “I AM FROM HOME DO YOU KNOW WHERE IT IS CAN YOU TAKE ME>”

“Sure, kid,” the root man said at a nod from the leader, “we’ll take ya home. Where is it? What’s the planet called?”

“HOME>” she repeated, inching toward frustration. “IT IS CALLED HOME>”

“Well, that’s just great,” he grumbled. “Seriously, you got _anything_ more than that? A sector? A _region?_ D’ya know what _Rim_ it’s in?”

She groaned, sighed, ran her hands through her vines and shook them loose. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d begun to hope, but this was going to be a monumental undertaking. But she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, thinking of her name, of Home. She would do whatever it took. “HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN GONE>” she typed, slowly, dreading the answer.

“You... You were under a cryo-cycle for eighty standards,” the brown man said, softer and more gentler than anything he’d said yet. “Eighty years.”

Eighty......

She shook her head, sprung to her feet, let the rectangle or datapad or _whatever_ clatter to the floor as she paced in tight circles, trying to make sense of it.

She knew she’d been gone too long, but— _no_ , no no no no.

_Eighty years_.

No. There was still hope. There had to be.

She turned back, scooped up the rectangle, used one hand to hold it steady and the other three to type, her blanket falling free from her shoulders.

“THE SITH CAME TO MY HOME AND THEY WANTED TO TAKE IT BUT WE FOUGHT I FOUGHT AND WE FOUGHT THEM BACK FOUGHT THEM BACK TO THEIR SHIP AND THEN WE CHASED THEM ONTO THEIR SHIP MY FRIENDS AND I BUT WE DID NOT KNOW WHAT IT WOULD TAKE AND WE LOST AND THEY KILLED THEM AND I THOUGHT THEY KILLED ME TOO BUT NOW I AM HERE AND I MUST FIND MY WAY HOME I MUST KNOW WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO MY PEOPLE>”

They all merely stared at her, but she shook her head and tapped some more.

“BEFORE THEY CAME WE DID NOT KNOW THERE WERE OTHERS WE THOUGHT WE WERE ALONE IN THE HEAVENS BUT WE WERE WRONG> I DO NOT KNOW WHERE I AM OR HOW TO TELL YOU WHERE I AM FROM BUT I KNOW MY HOME AND COULD FIND HOME OUT OF ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND PLANETS>”

The leader strode forward, lifted her blanket from the floor, and draped it back around her shoulders. His compassion was somewhat thin, but she could tell that he was trying. “ _Your stars. Would you know them if you saw them?_ ”

She shrugged deeper into the blankets, met what she assumed to be his eyes behind the mask, and nodded.

He patted her shoulder, and said, “ _Come_.”

She followed him closely, and the others followed her, out of the kitchen and down a hallway and around a corner and then another and another, past doors and contraptions and things that she could scarcely begin to guess at, until finally he stopped at one and opened it and ushered her in.

“Oh, _boss_ , surely you don’t think—” the root man began, but the leader held up his hand and received silence in return. He stood in the center of the room beside a strange, thin spike jutting from the floor, beckoned her forward, and then took her hand. Together, they touched the tip of the spike.

In a flash, light rushed past her and then stilled, glowing pricks of light hovering in the air all around them.

He stepped away from her, and tapped one of the glowing spots. The lights went rushing by and then stilled again, rearranged in a different pattern now. He gestured around, nodding to her.

She repeated what he’d done, tapped a star, understood now that they all moved to put the one she’d selected at the center.  
“ _It isn’t perfect_ ,” the masked man said, “ _but when you find your stars, we’ll take you there. However long it takes_.”

She stared around at the millions of stars, already knowing that this would be the most frustrating task she’d ever endeavored. But the man had said “when”, not “if”. It was a little distinction, but it meant a lot to her that he believed she could do this, that she could find Home.

She pulled her hair back again, and tapped at the datapad. “WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE>”

It was the root man who answered her. “Oh! Yeah, right. We’re, uh...pirates. You have pirates back on your, uh...Home?”

She nodded—technically, she’d _been_ one, back when the invasion had been nothing more than a handful of Sith scouts, and Home Defense had been little more than a scattering of rebellious groups who refused to trust the newcomers’ promises of peace.

“Okay, good. We’re pirates. I’m Quiggold, the first mate. That’s Reveth, our engineer; Kix, the medic; and Squeaky, the, uh... What is it you _do_ , Squeaks?” The tusked man snorted at him and said more things she didn’t understand. “Right, of course. And we all appreciate it. And _that_ is our captain.”

The man in the mask bowed to her, as she had before, never once taking his eyes off of her. “ _I am Sidon Ithano_.”

She bowed in return, willing now to lower her eyes. These people were not going to hurt her—they _really were_ there to help.

“Do you have a name, kid?” the—no, _Quiggold_ asked.

She nodded; she didn’t need the _datapad_ to describe that for her. She reached out, passed them the feeling of sitting at the base of her grandmother’s trunk staring up at the stars and the knowledge that she would live her life in service to Home Defense, then followed that up with the spoken version of her name, as she’d been taught: “ _Chisateraaknu’vetassh_ .” She hesitated and hung her head at the reality of her current situation, the loss of a title that no longer held a purpose, the weight of guilt and failure. She bundled it all up tightly so the aliens wouldn’t feel it, then clarified, “ _Chisateraaknu_.”

The root-like alien rubbed the bridge of his nose—an ordeal, given that most of his face was nose. “...Right. Uhh... Can we call ya Chisa?”

She frowned, thinking. It wasn’t... _quite_ accurate, but she supposed very little would be with these people. “ _Chisa_ ,” she attempted. It was reductive, sure, but the sound had never been what mattered, and she could say it and still smell the blossoms in her grandmother’s branches and feel her bark against her skin, and that was all that mattered. “ _Chisa_.”

The leader of the group nodded, and stretched out one hand to her. There was a crackle before his droid-voice sounded again, saying, “ _Welcome aboard, Chisa_.”


	3. Rattatak, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chisa is introduced to an old friend of the crew's, and finds that some answers are worse than their questions.
> 
> Thank you to countessofbiscuit for the really lovely review, and for getting me off my ass to actually work on this story again. You may not have known it, but it's just what I needed :)

She was standing on another planet. Chisateraaknu, formerly of the Vetassh, was _standing_ on another _planet!_

Well, alright, technically she was _kneeling_ —and now _sitting_ —on another planet, as she’d rather fallen down in her shock. It _hurt_ , too—this was not Home, with its dense forests and vast swamps and lush fields, with its soft ground. Everything, as far as she could see, was mountain and stone and sand.

In a fit of distress, she began digging frantically, down into the sand beneath her. The rocks and grit hurt her fingers and cut her palms, and dust got in her eyes and nose, and the ground was hard-packed and unyielding; but eventually she found something that looked and smelled and felt like soil.

She pressed all twenty fingers into the little plot of dirt, closed her eyes, and basked in the light of this planet’s three suns. She’d been getting what she could from the food of her rescuers and the light of distant stars as they passed through the heavens, but she was _so hungry_. The soil was thin, the light was harsh, but it was the best she’d had since they stormed the invaders’ ship and flew away from Home, all those many years ago.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Time was difficult to track on a flying-ship, and even now that they had landed there were three suns to contend with. But, sooner than she would have liked, a shadow fell across her face, and she opened her eyes to find the Captain Ithano standing before her.

He stood steady and relaxed, one hand resting upon the end of his weapon—she’d never seen that material before the war, but knew it now to be bone. She tried not to think about where it had come from, not to think about all the others she’d seen.

The Captain crouched low, peering down at the hole she’d dug, and pressed a few of his fingers into the dirt beside her own. She laughed; when he raised his head, angling his mask to face her, she thought he might be smiling under there.

“Alright, kid,” Quiggold called from behind Ithano. “We’re gonna head into town, find that friend we told ya ‘bout. You wanna come with, or would ya rather stay here with the ship?”

Chisa frowned, looking off toward the line of buildings huddling together off along the horizon. She didn’t want to stay here; the ship was cold and unfeeling, and while she was growing accustomed to—even _fond_ of—the people who lived within it, she did not much like the idea of being there without them.

And yet, the idea of visiting a town she did not know, on a _different planet_ , populated with people-aliens and animal-aliens she did not recognize (and with little idea of how to differentiate between the two), was more than a little daunting.

But the rest of the crew would be there, too. They could help her understand, surely, and keep her from getting into too much trouble. She just needed to stay close to them.

She nodded her head and stood, scooping up a few handfuls of soil and stuffing them into the pockets of her borrowed pants. Her old clothes had been destroyed, too ragged and worn from the years she’d been asleep to do any good. She’d managed to salvage a bit of the skirt (with a long, rambling plea on the datapad that had Reveth shoving the thing at her before the droid-voice even finished speaking), and had cut it lengthwise to make a sort of blanket for her bed.

The pants were an unobjectionable substitution, but the boots were a nuisance, and no one on the ship had the right number of arms; all her shirts had had the sleeves cut out to make room, and her arms were always cold. This planet had the distinction of being oppressively hot, for better or worse. She was at least glad of the change.

And, when they all climbed aboard the smaller ship— “speeder”, they called it, as it only flew a little distance above the ground, not out into the heavens—the wind rushing by was shockingly cool, almost comfortable.

They left the speeder at a kind of dock on the edge of town. Squeaky and Reveth headed off together immediately, and Chisa lingered behind with Kix, Quiggold, and Sidon Ithano.

The captain gestured something, and Quiggold nodded and turned to her. “Right. You got that hat we gave ya, kid?”

She had rolled up the soft round of fabric and tucked it into her belt. Kix helped her tuck it over her vines, pulling the wide, floppy brim down low. “Keep your head down,” he told her. “Try not to stare. Anyone looks at you too long—or, y’know, you... _feel_ something—you let us know. Yeah?”

Chisa nodded her head, and even added in a, “ _Yeh_ ,” for good measure. Quiggold had been teaching her to _say words_ , as strange as that was.

She told herself she was only going along with it because there weren’t any Speakers around, that she was just filling the role and would give up the habit when she got back to Home. She hadn’t known this was a lie at first; but the more she learned, the more she realized there was no way she’d ever be giving up this power.

It was only in bits for now, a handful of words or phrases she could use to get her point across to the numb aliens, especially when the datapad wasn’t close by. But she’d been told all her life that her throat was not designed for this, that she would never be able to say more than her own name, that she physically couldn’t bear the stress of Speaking. It certainly had been difficult, even painful, at first; but the more she learned, and tried, and practiced, the easier it became.

Surely a great deal had changed since she’d been taken from Home. But this knowledge, that even _Weeds_ could _Speak_ ,  if the others still had yet to discover it for themselves... It would change _everything_ for her people. And then...

Well, either the Speakers truly had yet to discover this marvel, or they’d been lying about it all along. Either way, Home deserved to know.

But for now, down here on Rattatak, Chisa knew how to blend into a crowd. She walked these strange streets with her strange companions, thinking of the first time she had dragged her sister along to the Bloomer city, when the weather had been so cold they could cover their heads and faces without drawing suspicion. Back then, the challenge had been to keep from projecting her own feelings of wonder and delight, to seem as unimpressed and annoyed as the few Bloomers they saw who were made to leave the comforts of their homes and venture out into the cold.

Here, the suns beat down upon the mountains, and the residents still flooded the streets, and the challenge was to keep from picking up the emotions of the multitude around her. She barely had a chance to become distracted by the sights and sounds and smells of a new city on a different _planet_ , so consuming was the pressing greed, the wild desperation, the lust and fear and ecstasy. Every shop and cantina they passed battered her like a strong wind. She could do little more than keep one hand fisted around the end of Sidon Ithano’s cloak, and try to keep her senses focused on his impenetrable calm.

He did not seem to notice her clinging—or if he did, at least he did not shoo her away.

Finally, they seemed to come to their destination, a large, aging stone building that seemed out of place with the slap-dash stalls and salvaged buildings the rest of the town seemed composed of. Their little group ascended the steps, but Chisateraaknu released the captain’s cloak and lagged behind, only a little, only enough to place the palms of her hands along the smooth pillar of the doorway, and press into the cool heart of the stone.

It was _proud_ , way down deep—and grieved, too, to have stood witness to the rise and fall of its brothers, of the civilizations that had grown and thrived and crumbled and then lay barren for so long. But the pride had been there since these individual stones had been taken from their mountains and assembled into a mountain of its own right, and the pride had flared high again today, now that people had returned to make their homes inside and to decorate its walls, to build a town upon the land again. It had been empty for so long, but it was full now, and it was proud to have a purpose.

She pulled out of and away from the stone, and darted through the doorway after the red gleam of Ithano’s mask, feeling pleased that they had come to this place and made it feel a little fuller, even if they were only staying a little while. She grabbed the hem of the captain’s cloak again, let him lead her down a dark and winding hall, deeper into the heart of this hand-made mountain, until they passed through another doorway into a room full to bursting with noise and light and life.

The room was long and tall, crammed full of mismatched tables and chairs, nearly all occupied by what had to be a hundred different aliens from a hundred different planets—or so it seemed to her. There were even droids walking or rolling around, some types that she recognized and many more that she didn’t. For a few creatures, it was difficult for her to say whether they were droids at all.

She knew she stared at many things and many people, but she did her best to keep her eyes hidden beneath the hat as Kix told her, and she stayed as close to the captain as possible—both to keep from being separated in the crowd, and to prevent anyone from seeing how childishly she held onto him. She was sure that would not be good for his image—and, by the way the crowd parted before him, and the equal measures of awe and fear that shuddered through them, everyone here knew who he was.

Sidon Ithano led them toward an empty table at the back of the room, and they sat down—the captain with his back to the corner, Quiggold and Chisa flanking him on either side. Meanwhile, Kix pressed through the crowd to the bar, and eventually returned with drinks: two glasses of some thick-looking purple liquid for himself and Quiggold, and a pitcher and glass of water for Chisa.

She drank down one glass quickly, the crowd’s loud, busy feelings pressing in on her strongly enough to set her teeth on edge, but the water tasted... _wrong_ . Not _dangerous_ , but...somehow the _opposite_ , far too clean, with a metallic aftertaste like licking the flat of a blade. She refilled her glass, and withdrew a small handful of dirt from her pocket and dumped that in there, too, and stirred it with her finger so it didn’t all just float on top. It earned her an odd look from Kix and Quiggold each, but it tasted much better, and the captain made a soft, honking sort of noise that she thought to take for laughter.

Kix shook his head, but still put his hand on one of hers. “Lotta people here, Chisa. You feel anything familiar?”

She closed her eyes and reached out, letting her senses spread throughout the cantina, pushing into everyone there, but nothing tugged at her in return. She pulled back to herself with a sigh, and shook her head no.

“Well, that’s alright, kid,” Quiggold said, though she could feel the doubt gnawing at him. “I’m sure our friend’ll know something. And, speaking of..!”

“ _Sidon Ithano!_ ”

Chisa turned at the cheerful voice, and gasped at the sight of the small alien-person approaching—at their flat face and nose, like hers! But when she pressed her senses into this newcomer, she felt none of the familiar probing in return.

“It’s about time you came to visit,” the person said, lifting a tray of drinks to rest upon the table.

The captain rose, as slow and unhurried as always, and then bowed to this person with his hand on his chest.

“It’s always a pleasure to see ya, Maz,” Quiggold said for him. “We’re sorry it took so long. But the new place looks good, yeah? Really shapin’ up here.”

The creature shook their head with a sigh, regret and anger rolling heavy and strong. “It’s no Takodana, but we make do. Now, then,” they broke off, sharp against that wistfulness, and Chisa gasped as her senses were shoved, _hard_ , out of the little creature. “Who’s your rude friend, here?”

Chisa couldn't even bother being offended, too astounded that this alien creature had any Feeling at all, let alone enough to force _her_ out! She tore the hat off her head and lurched forward, about ready to leap over the table if it would help her know what this meant, but Ithano put his hand on her arm—not tightly, but enough to push some of his calm into her, to still her racing thoughts and keep her in her seat.

“Chisa, this is Maz Kanata. She’s the friend we told you about. Maz, this is Chisa.”

“Oh my,” the alien breathed, reaching up to adjust the round things on her face that apparently were not (at least entirely) her eyes.

Chisa shook off the captain’s hand and leaned forward again, pressing into the woman again, with all her desperation and hope, infull measure. “ _Home?_ ” she pleaded.

Maz Kanata frowned, and turned her eye-coverings again, and her eyes grew larger in size but narrowed in concern.

“That’s what she calls her planet,” Kix offered. “We’ve, uh...been having some trouble with location, there.”

“Thought ya might be able to help sort us out,” Quiggold added softly. “Thought you mighta seen someone like ‘er before.”

The woman reached out, and placed her soft, small hand in one of Chisa’s. “What was your name again, girl?”

“ _Chisateraaknu’vetassh_ ,” she rasped, but then caught herself with a wince. “ _Chisa_.”

“Vetassh?” the woman echoed, as though the word meant something to her, and Chisa squeezed her hand tight.

“ _Yeh! Vetassh!_ ”

“Hmm... I have met some who called themselves Vetassh before, but...they looked nothing like you.”

Chisa leapt to her feet in her excitement, nodding rapidly. _Vetassh_ , but not like _her?_ She must have met a _Speaker!_ She patted her own face, rubbing at it like she would fur, and then bent her upper arms and waved them to look like wings.

“Oh!” Maz cried, nodding. “Yes! Yes, the furry faces and the wings, I remember. And you...all came from the same _planet?_ ”

Chisa shook her head, and frowned, forgetting the word for it. But she held out three hands in a large circle and patted her own chest, then balled her remaining hand into a fist and moved it around the outside of the circle.

“Oh, they’re from your _moon!_ ”

“ _Yeh!_ ” Chisa grinned broadly, and turned her gaze back to the crowd of aliens around them, and asked again, “... _Vetassh?_ ”

“Oh...” The woman took her hand again, flush with comfort and compassion and pity. “I am sorry I got your hopes up, Chisa. I have not seen one of the people you mean in a hundred years, at least.”

Chisa slowly sat back down, disappointed, but not yet hopeless. She nodded slowly, cursing herself for not bringing the datapad with her, but desperate enough to try saying some of the words the crew had taught her. “ _Hav sseen, vetassh? No ware Home?_ ”

“But you _have_ seen them?” Kix clarified at her blank stare. “You know where this... _Home_ is?”

Maz Kanata shook her head, regret trickling out of her. “No, I do not. The Vetassh that passed through did not speak of where they were from. They came only to trade, and left when it was done. The last I saw of them... We heard they had begun to trade with the Empire—the _Sith_. We threw them out.”

No.

Chisa reeled back from the table, shaking her head.

_No_ .

That... That couldn't be...

**_No._ **

She lurched out of her seat, scrambled up and over the table, and ran.


	4. Rattatak, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain goes after Chisa, and realizes there's more to this little plant girl than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing for three days straight. No idea why this took me so long, but dear god I'm sick of looking at it. Probably gonna make some edits in the near future, when my brain's a little fresher, so please let me know if there's anything I should (or shouldn't!) change. Enjoy!

He should have known better than that, should have been smart enough to stop her. But he’d been thrown by the way her riotous emotions had suddenly dropped out of his perception, and Chisa had moved much faster than he’d known to expect from her.

Sidon had jumped to his feet when she bolted, but she’d already slipped into the crowd. For the first time since she’d woken, he couldn’t feel her. So he gestured to Quiggold—stay here, find out anything else Maz knows, see what kinda price we can get for the  _ Graxxon  _ salvage, all in a wave of his hand—and dove into the crowd after her.

She was small, and fast. He hadn’t known she could move like that, hadn’t even made it to the bar when he caught a glimpse of her red vines and brown arms darting through the doorway they’d entered together. He shook his head, pushed an Arcona out of his way, and ran after her, down along the winding hall and back out into the pressing heat of Rattatak’s suns. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, but couldn’t make her out against the vibrant colors and bustle of the market.

He wouldn’t lose her, not like this. He’d promised they would help her find her planet, and the Crimson Corsair did not break promises.

He should have known better. Chisa had told them a little about her planet, about what had happened to her before the Cryo—not as much as he would like, as they’d found communicating with her was no less difficult for being worth the challenge, and there was only so much meaning a datapad could get across. But if what she and Maz had said were true as both women knew the truth to be, he was quickly losing hope that Chisa would have a home—a  _ Home _ —to get back to. Even quicker, as he wound his way through the market stalls, he was losing hope that he would be able to find her.

In the weeks since the plant girl had come aboard, Ithano had grown accustomed to her presence, to the strange press of someone else’s emotions upon his consciousness. The Delphidian Cluster saw all sorts, and he’d seen even more after he’d boarded his first starship out of there; she was certainly not the first Empathic creature he’d come across. But he’d certainly never  _ lived  _ with one before. 

Those first few nights had been wretched and sleepless, her grief and fear impossible to shut out. But after she’d woken, and realized she was safe with them... Well, he’d become familiar with the way she felt—her warm gratitude and her steady determination and her unflinching hope a constant reminder that, despite all of the terrible things he had done, he was still capable of being something good to somebody.

With one word from Maz, all of that was gone. Chisa had fallen silent in a way he hadn’t felt before. He had to get her, get that feeling, back.

She’d told the crew that her people thought they were alone in the galaxy; but if they’d been making trips to Takodana, twenty standards  _ before  _ she was frozen, and dealing with the  _ Sith _ ...

He didn’t want to know what she was feeling right now, but this silence had him worried. She was lost and alone on her first alien planet, likely scared and afraid and in turmoil. It hadn’t been much of a disguise, but she’d left her hat back in the bar, and this place was crawling with spacers and pirates and scavengers who would take one look at her sweet, pretty face and her ill-fitting clothes and know that she was new here, and defenseless.

Sidon Ithano was no Empath, but he had known them. He couldn’t feel another person’s emotions if they weren’t projecting them, but he knew a little about projecting his own. So he let his worry fill him, in the hope that Chisa would feel him searching for her, that she would see she didn’t have to be alone. He felt his worry as loud as he could, still looking through the crowd for a glimpse of brown and green and red.

The sound of nearby shouting wasn’t exactly uncommon for Rattatak, but this bout was swiftly followed by a sudden shock of rage, that nearly bowled him over.

He turned toward the noise, the feeling; surely there were no other Empaths here, no one else who could project strongly enough to affect him like that. Sidon ran, diving between market stalls, ducking around merchants and patrons alike, racing around corners, following that feeling into an alley...and there he stopped.

Chisa stood, fists balled and shoulders heaving, before a crumpled heap of at least four men, all groaning. He recognized bits and pieces of their pilfered armor; if they’d stolen from Kanjiklub, Fireclaw, and the Guavians, these were more than simple scavengers. And she’d just put them down single—well, quadruple—handedly.

“ _ Chisateraaknu _ ,” he called, and only just ducked beneath the vibroblade she hurled at him, that stuck to the hilt in the stone wall behind him. When he turned, she’d dropped into a defensive stance, a second vibro held before her—where had she  _ found  _ all these?

She bared her sharp teeth in a snarl, and the Corsair threw his hands up, placating. “ _ Chisa, it’s me _ .” There was a wild look in her eyes, a look he'd seen many times before. “ _ It’s alright, Chisa. You’re not there anymore. Remember? You fought, and they took you away, but we found you—Quiggold and Squeaky and Reveth and Kix and I. Remember? _ ”

She blinked twice, her expression softened. “... _ Kix _ ,” she rasped—his name was the easiest for her to say.

“ _ That’s right. You remember Kix. He’s worried about you, Chisa. So am I. _ ”

She glanced down at her hands, at the vibroblade she still held tight, at the pile of bodies beside her. She threw the knife away and staggered toward him, gasping, “ _ Ssidon _ .”

He hadn’t known she could say his name, too; but when she moved he saw something at her side, something more important than what he felt at the sound of his name from her mouth. “ _ You’re hurt. _ ”

She looked down, confused, as if noticing it for the first time. She tugged her shirt up—a whole chunk of her was missing, a wet, green gash in her brown skin.

The Corsair went to grab her, but she took a handful of the dirt from her pocket, hissing as she smeared it into the wound. Then she looked up at him, her strange, green eyes glittering with unshed tears. He put his hand against her cheek, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the green skin that covered half her face. He’d assumed, before, that her markings were natural. This was much worse.

His throat was starting to ache, but still he called her name, and she sagged against him, all four arms gripping him tight, with desperation. The air between them splintered; her hurt and disgust and fear and rage broke free from where she’d hidden it, washing over him like a flood, both chilling and burning all at once. But he kept his calm, and held her through it, and ran his hand along her vines until it subsided, and couldn’t help but wonder.

Just what sort of person had Chisa been before she’d come to them? What sort of things had she done? She told them that she’d fought the Sith, that she’d joined the cause to drive them from her planet, that she’d led the charge aboard one of their ships before she’d been captured. But he’d just figured... Well, plenty of backwoods planets had tried to resist the Empire, and had plenty of what they thought to be victories before they were utterly crushed. When she spoke of battle, of war, he’d assumed she just didn’t know any better. But now...

You didn’t take out four—no, he saw  _ five _ —Dolan Raiders without more than a little experience in combat. You didn’t get trapped in a memory as she had without experiencing something traumatic. You didn’t just  _ lose  _ and regrow half of your face for the fun of it.

“ _ It’s alright, Chisa, _ ” he growled as her tide of rage withdrew, as she allowed herself to feel safe and comforted instead. “ _ You’re alright _ .”

She pulled away from him, wiping at her face—for the first time, he noticed that the thumb and two fingers of one of her right hands were completely green, and the sight and thought of it dropped a cold and heavy stone into his stomach. But she sniffled, and nodded, and said, “ _ Yeh _ ,” then looked back at the unconscious men. “ _ Soory _ .”

He huffed a laugh, cheered by the little smile she gave in return. He reached up and maneuvered his cloak up and over his mask, then dropped it over Chisa’s head.

He wasn’t going to lose her again. This, at least, would declare to all who saw her that she was with the Crimson Corsair, that she was a member of the crew of the  _ Meson Martinet _ . It would, at least, keep her safe.

It was much longer on her, nearly brushing the ground. But she chittered happily as she tugged her vines free of the heavy cloth and pulled it close around her shoulders. He liked it when she made that noise, was glad to hear it now.

“ _ Come on _ ,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “ _ Let’s get back _ .”

She walked back to Maz’s place at his side, instead of trailing behind like before. He could feel the eyes of the market crowd watching them; but more importantly, he could feel Chisa, a little worn and weary, a little strain of worry gnawing at her hope and certainty. “ _ We’ll find them, Chisateraaknu _ ,” he assured as they headed back into the bar. “ _ And when we do, we’ll make them answer for what they’ve done _ .”

She looped one of her arms around his, and answered, “ _ Yeh _ .”

* * *

The second sun was starting to set when the Corsair returned to his ship that evening, Quiggold and Squeaky and Reveth in tow, the speeder much lighter for the loss of weapons and contraband they’d managed to sell. It had been a long day.

Kix had flown into a rage, and taken Chisa back to the  _ Martinet  _ as soon as he’d seen what happened to her. The man was a good medic, as skilled at his job as he was protective of his patients. Sidon was expecting to find him worriedly hovering over the botanical back in the medbay.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting to find Kix sitting on the back steps to the ship, looking over a datapad, with Chisa lying on the ground a few feet away.

He vaulted out of the speeder, worried that something terrible had happened; but Kix hopped up and hurried to meet him, shaking his head. “It’s alright, captain, she’s fine. Just resting.”

He tried looking around the clone, to see her better, but Kix grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him back to face him. Sidon fixed him with a glare that had cowed the Desilijic; but the medic did not back down.

“She tried to tell me that she fell and hurt herself, but I’m not an idiot. That cut was made by a  _ vibroblade _ . What the kriff happened out there?”

The Corsair crossed his arms behind his back, and shrugged. If Chisa didn’t want to tell the others about what had happened, what she’d done, he wouldn’t be the one to betray her. 

Kix glared, but released him. “ _ Fine _ ,” he spat, shaking his head. “Forget I asked. But you should know, she’s gonna need to take it easy for a while.” He looked down at the datapad in his hands. “From what I can tell, the wound should close itself within a few days, but she said it could be years before the color comes back. All her energy’s gonna be going into regrowth, so she’s gonna need all the water and solar light she can get. And I’m gonna recommend that we load up some of this dirt to take with us when we head out, so she has something to...eat, or whatever it is she does with it.”

Ithano placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, and nodded.

Kix shrugged him off, and turned to go. “I’m just doing my job.”

It was much more than that. The Jedi, the Sith, whoever had  _ created  _ him... Kix’s devotion to his patients wasn’t something they’d put inside him. It was who he  _ was _ .

The Corsair watched him head up and into the ship, wondering how long he’d be angry that they had all been unable to protect Chisa, angry that he felt they were keeping secrets from him. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his crew. But if Chisa didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want the crew to know what she was capable of, didn’t want to give them another reason to fear her...

He looked over, saw that she was sitting up now, chattering at Reveth and Squeaky who’d gone to see her.  With a sigh, he went to join them.

She had discarded her boots and shirt, sitting with her hands and feet buried in the ground, her torso flat but for the gash in her side, bared to the sun. There was a little more dirt packed in her wound, and it already looked a little smaller than it had before. She grinned at him as he approached—those sharp teeth were always a little distressing, especially now, given what he’d seen. But he could feel that she was glad to see him, and she pulled one of her hands out of the dirt, reached across to the cloak lying on the ground beside her, and held it up to him.

He took his cloak back, fitted the armorweave back over his helmet and around his neck, let the heavy fabric ground him.

“It’s good to see you’re okay, Chi,” Reveth called, ruffling the botanical’s vines with her metal hand. Squeaky squealed his agreement, and the two headed into the ship.

Sidon hesitated a moment, then lowered himself to sit beside Chisa. He could feel her watching him carefully, feel her curiosity for why he was there. He wasn’t entirely sure, himself. But they sat there together, in silence, watching the final sun set behind the mountains, painting the sky in a wash of color.

The darkness came on sudden and complete, the temperature dropping with it. Chisa shivered, her teeth chattering, but she made no move to go inside, only grabbed her shirt off the ground and slithered into it. Still, her arms were exposed, so he gripped the hem of his cloak and lifted it around her shoulders.

She looked at it, looked at him. Then, with a sigh, she leaned against him, letting him keep his arm around her. Her skin was still warm from the suns.

The stars glittered above them. He pointed upward. In the quiet of the night, he could keep his voice low enough that it didn’t hurt to speak, could trust his mask to pick up the sound. “ _ Do you see anything you recognize? _ ”

Chisa’s big, green eyes turned to the sky, and searched for a long time. But eventually she frowned, and shook her head no.

He sighed and looked up. “ _ Well, let me show you _ .” He lifted one finger, and her eyes followed him as he dragged it down and back up, an inverted pyramid. “ _ Those are the Horns of Waryl, though they’re better seen on Yvara. There’s Ryloth’s star, and Yaga’s. That blue one there is N’oka Brath, from the Qella system. And there’s Baralou. I sailed with a Multopos from that system, once. Good pirate. Hated Ponemah, would’ve hated it here. They like the water, Multopos. Retired, a few years ago, to go home and lay some eggs, start a family, that sort of thing _ . ”

He knew he was rambling. It wasn’t often that he could talk without pain, and she was watching him carefully, listening to all he had to say. Still, he felt a little foolish, and fell silent.

Chisa turned her attention back to the sky. After a long moment, she raised a hand of her own, pointing a green finger at a particular star, then pulling it along in a short, zigzagging line above them. Then she turned to him with a grin, and said, “ _ Kix _ .”

He laughed. The clone had been growing his hair out since he’d awoken, at least long enough to cover his Aurebesh tattoo, but the lightning-stripes were still fairly evident. “ _ Yeah _ ,” he laughed, rubbing her shoulder. “ _ There’s Kix, huh? _ ”

She nodded, smiling, and turned back to look at the stars, narrowing her eyes in concentration. Eventually, she lifted her hand again, drawing out a longer line this time, a rounded shape with two fins branching off the sides. Then she turned, and tapped her fingers against his mask.

He looked from her, to the stars she’d traced out, and back to her. “ _ That’s  _ me _? _ ”

She nodded, trying and failing to hide a smile. “ _ Ssidon _ .”

He tightened his arm around her, hugging her to his chest and pressing his mask against her vines; the little flowers smelled light and sweet, like Malreaux roses. When he released her, she stayed, tucked against him, shivering.

“ _ C’mon _ ,” he murmured, rubbing her bare arm. Even through his thick gloves, he could tell that she’d lost the sun’s warmth. “ _ Let’s get inside, before we’re late for dinner _ .”

She nodded and stood, scooping up some more dirt to shove into her pockets. In the morning, they’d do like Kix had said, and fill a few crates for her to take when they flew. But for now, they needed to get in before Quiggold came looking for them, expecting an explanation for why they'd been gone so long, an explanation Sidon didn't want to give. He grabbed her boots—he knew she hated wearing them, but that she hated the  _ Martinet’s  _ cold floors even more—and headed up the steps beside her.


End file.
